Comfortably Numb
by bambers2
Summary: Sam and Dean have been raised to hunt and kill demons, but what if the demon is of Sam's own making? Does Sam have the will to overcome it, or will his secret have deadly consequences for both him and Dean?
1. Chapter 1

_Okay, so i should have been writing the next chapter of When Darkness calls, but got kinda stuck(unstuck now though) so i wrote this chapter that came to me while i was thinking...hope everyone enjoys!! reviews are golden!! bambers;)_

_Comfortably Numb_

_Chapter One_

"I'm done," Sam said, kicking the motel room door shut.

"What the hell do you mean, you're done?" Dean quirked a brow.

"Just what I said. I'm finished hunting."

"Why? What happened to that whole save as many as you can crusade you've been on lately?"

"I'm tired, Dean. Every bone in my body aches from sunrise until God knows when I finally get to sleep." _That's close enough to the truth. Can't let him know the real reason._

"So you're gonna just quit because of a few little bruises and broken bones? Damn . . . I thought you were tougher than that, Samantha."

Sam ripped off his torn, blood-soaked shirt, and pointed to his mid-section. "Do these scars look little to you? God, it looks like I have a freakin road map tattooed to my chest." He jabbed a finger at his lean muscular stomach. "And this one right here," he stabbed at it again for emphasis. "This one is the goddamn Grand Canyon. So don't tell about little bruises."

"Aw, Sammy, girls love scars."

"Yeah, ask them how they feel about Frankenstein."

"You don't look like Frankenstein . . . well maybe lengthwise you do, but at least you're not green." Dean cracked a smile, flashing perfect white teeth.

"So not funny, Dean."

Dean plunked down onto the small overstuffed couch, and lazily ran his fingers along the fraying edges. "Speakin of the Grand Canyon — "

"Dude, what is it with you and the Grand freakin Canyon?" Sam's brows pulled together in a frown, glaring at Dean. "I'm trying to be serious here."

Dean closed his eyes, leaning back against the soft, worn cushions, and let out a deep sigh. "Hmm . . . think I could so totally take Frankenstein in a fight," he tiredly mumbled, ignoring Sam. "Sure, he's got that whole height thing workin' for him, but he's probably slow to the punch like you, Sammy."

"I'm not slow to the punch."

"Aww . . . sure you are, dude, but don't worry, I got your back."

Sam threw up his hands in exasperation. "Why do I even bother?" He dropped onto the bed, yanked off his sneakers, and sprawled across the matress. "Not like you ever listen anyway."

"Get some sleep, Sam."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam awoke with a jolt, stark searing pain running the length of his spine. Body trembling, Sam clenched his teeth, and took slow deep breaths though his nostrils, in an attempt to quell the ache.

His fingers curled around the blankets in a tight grip as the pain intensified. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh gaww . . .come on, damn it."

"What's the matter, Sammy?" came Dean's concerned voice from the bed opposite of Sam's.

"N-nightmare," Sam's voice hitched as he lied to his brother. _Thank God the lights are out. Don't want him to see how much pain I'm in._

Dean sat, draping his legs over the edge of the mattress. He leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Nah, think I'm gonna take a hot shower." _Knowing him, he'll think this is his fault. _Wincing, Sam slowly eased himself into a standing position._ Oh God, it freakin hurts._

"Been takin' a lot of late night showers lately."

"Only time I get more than five minutes of hot water thanks to you." Sam took a slow, unsteady step, stopping as shockwaves of electrified pain ran the course of his back and down into his legs, knees nearly buckling.

"You sure you're okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah."

Sam gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain standing. Taking determined strides toward the bathroom, he let out a low groan when he'd finally made it the short expanse without collapsing.

He shut the door, leaned against the wall and slid down onto the cold tile floor. Sweat dripped from Sam's forehead and prickled at his scalp as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and yanked out a half-empty bottle of Morphine. _God, how can I almost be out, I just got this damn prescription about a week ago. _

Yanking off the cap, he took two and dry-swallowed them. The bottle dropped from his shaky hand, small white pills scattering like snow on the equally white tiled floor. _Yeah, that so sucks. _He bent and gathered all the pills he could find and shoved them back in the bottle. _So not even gonna consider what kind of stuff might have been on this floor._

Wincing, Sam braced himself against the wall and slowly stood, muscles straining and bunching in protest. Without giving it a second thought, he took another pill and swallowed it.

"Sonuvabitch," he growled through clenched teeth, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. _Why the hell am I in so much freakin pain?_ _Dr. Damon promised these would work._

Sam turned on the shower, yanked off his clothes and got in. Leaning forward, he rested his arms against the shower stall and lowered his head, waiting for the steaming hot water and the medicine to take effect.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean sat quietly at the small table by the front door watching Sam from the moment he'd walked out of the bathroom. Sam could feel the weight of Dean's stare on his backside as he slowly bent to pick up the shirt he'd flung on the ground earlier that morning. _Damn it, he knows._

"You were in there a helluva long time, Sammy."

Sam swung to look at him, wobbling slightly, equilibrium off kilter. "What are you the bathroom monitor now?"

"If I have to be." Dean leaned forward in his seat, rested his elbows on the table and eyed Sam suspiciously. "I know something is wrong with you. One minute you're hobbling around here like a ninety-year-old man and then the next you're — God, I don't even know what you are."

"Said I was okay so back off, Dean." Sam swayed precariously, grabbing hold of a chair, he steadied himself. _Why can't he ever just let it go? _

"Afraid I can't do that, dude." Dean lifted a brow, stubbornly glaring at Sam.."Where you're concerned, I have my own set of spidey-senses, and I gotta tell ya, Sammy, right now they're workin' on overdrive."

Dean kicked back the chair, stood and strode to Sam. Placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, Dean gently pushed him and Sam nearly toppled over. The chair Sam had been holding onto fell to the ground with a thud, before he finally regained his balance.

Looking from the fallen chair to Sam, Dean shook his head. "Think I've proven my point, now let's try this again. What's wrong with you?"

Sam stubbornly jutted out his jaw and glared at Dean. "At this moment, I'd have to say you're what's the matter with me."

Sam stormed away from him, grabbed his hoodie off the couch, and headed for the door.

"Where the hell do you think you're goin'."

Sam turned, pursed his lips, and gave a single shake of his head. "Right now, I plan on going anywhere you're not." He strode out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam trudged to the reception desk of the medical clinic, and waited for the blonde thirty-something woman to hang up the phone. After a few seconds, he anxiously tapped his fingers on the ledge of the counter. _Come on, get off the damn phone, lady._

She glanced at Sam, smiled politely and raised a finger for him to wait. A moment later, she placed the phone on the receiver. "Can I help you?"

"I need to see Dr. Damon," Sam said in a breathless rush.

"Do you have an appointment."

"No, but he told me to come back here if my pain got any worse."

The nurse looked at the appointment book on her desk, studied it for a moment then smiled. "Luckily, our 10:45 had to cancel so I can squeeze you in. I'll need your name sir?" she said, picking up a pen to mark it down.

"Sam Markenson."

She quickly jotted it on the page. "If you'll take a seat, Mr. Markenson. I'll tell the doctor you're here."

Sam glanced around the waiting room, noticed no one was there and was about to sit, but then thought better of it._ If I sit down, there ain't no way in hell I'm gonna be able to get up without help._

Ten minutes later, the nurse opened the door separating the examining rooms from the waiting room, and gestured for Sam to follow her. "You'll be in exam room six." She walked in, went to a cabinet, pulled out hospital gown and handed it to him. "Strip down to your underwear and put this on. Dr. Damon will be in to see you shortly," she said then left, shutting the door behind her.

Sam unbuttoned his flannel shirt, and holding his breath he eased it off his shoulders. He'd just barely gotten the gown on when a light rap came at the door and Dr. Damon walked into the room.

"Mr. Markenson, I hadn't expected to see you. I thought you mentioned leaving town," the man said in a pleasant tone. "Is your back still bothering you?" he asked, concern clearly evident in his dark brown eyes.

"Actually, it's getting worse."

Doctor Damon glanced at Sam's file and frowned, deep wrinkles furrowing his forehead. Scrubbing his hand across his bearded face, the doctor sighed. "This is what I warned you about the last time you were here. Remember?" He flipped through his notes, shaking his head. "Have you given any consideration to giving up stunt motorcycle driving? It's an extremely dangerous sport."

Sam nearly laughed, having forgotten he'd told the doctor he drove motorcycles for the Extreme X Games when Dr. Damon asked how he'd gotten all the bruises and scars. "You don't know the half of it, Doc."

"This is serious, Sam," Dr. Damon went on to say, without glancing up at him. "You could be crippled before your thirty if you don't take it a little easy."

_Yeah, if I live that long._ "I swear, I'm trying."

The doctor gave him a doubtful look. "Let me examine you and then we'll discuss your options."

Dr. Damon set the file on the counter, washed and dried his hands, and walked behind Sam.

"Tell me when you feel any pain. Okay?"

"Don't think that's gonna be a problem." Sam braced himself for what he knew was coming next.

The moment Dr. Damon touched the middle of Sam's back, Sam arched forward, letting out a yelp of pain, feeling as if the doctor had stabbed him with a white-hot poker.

"Sorry about that, Sam."

"M'okay."

Sam gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyelids closed tightly in an effort not to scream again as the Dr. Damon poked and prodded Sam's back and neck. By the time the doctor was finished examining him, Sam was shaking so bad he could hardly stand. _So much for a good bedside manner Doc._

Dr. Damon leaned against the counter, eying Sam and stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Well, in my professional opinion, I'd say you're definitely in worse shape then the last time you were here."

"Yeah, kinda already figured that one out by myself," Sam said, gripping a hold of the exam table so as not to fall over. "What are my options?"

"Since you told me last time, surgery to repair the damage was out of the question, and seeing that the Morphine isn't helping, I only have one other option for treatment."

"What is it?"

"Our clinic was chosen to participate in a study for a new experimental drug called Deptrapavalone. The drug's chemical composition mimics that of the pain-blocking neurotransmitter endorphin, and effectively alleviates the physical pain caused by a back injury." Dr. Damon, paused and cleared his throat, then continued, "You meet the criterial to be a part of the study. If you're interested, you'll need to fill out the paperwork and then we can start you on it right away."

Sam wasn't sure he understood what the doctor was talking about, but the sound of relief from the pain was too great to resist. "How does it work?"

"Well, the first round of medication is given in a shot, and after that we give you a sixty-day supply in pill form. All you have to do is take two pills every eight hours, and write down in the medical journal we provide the effects of the drug on your pain."

"Sounds simple enough."

"So you want to try it then?" the doctor asked, his stern gaze locking with Sam's.

"At this point, I'm willing to try anything."

"All right. I'll have Nurse Farnsworth prepare the shot, and get the necessary paperwork for you to complete." He picked up the phone and called the nurse.

"Betty, could you prepare a shot of Deptrapavalone for me?" He waited for her to reply and then continued. "Yes . . . make sure you note the day and time on the forms. Thanks."

He hung up and then looked at Sam. "I think you will be quite happy with the results, Mr. Markenson. But make sure you read the contraindications on the information packet provided. And if you begin to suffer from any of the side effects, I want you to stop taking the medicine immediately and contact me. Understand?"

"Yeah."

A knock came at the door and Nurse Farnsworth entered carrying a thick gold envelope in one hand and a needle in the other. "Here you go, Doctor," she said as she handed him the shot and placed the packet on the counter.

"Thanks, Betty."

"You're welcome, Dr. Damon."

Betty smiled sweetly at Sam then turned and left.

"This may burn a little at first and later you may notice a little swelling at the injection site which is normal," Dr. Damon said as he lifted the sleeve of Sam's hospital gown and injected the medicine into Sam's biceps.

Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "Yeah, definitely stings."

"All finished." He grinned. "Not too bad, right."

"Not at all," Sam replied, already starting to feel relief from the constant pain he'd been suffering from for the past several weeks.

"Well, if there isn't anything else I can do for you, I have another patient waiting."

"Naw, I'm good." Sam gave him a lopsided grin.

"The Deptrapavalone is in the packet on the counter. Make sure you read all the information provided, okay?"

"Packet to read, pills to take. Gotcha," Sam said, laughing at how weird his own voice sounded. _Do I really sound that geeky? No wonder Dean is always making fun of me. _

Dr. Damon gave him a strange look, quirked a brow, and said, "Have a good day, Sam."

"You too, dude." Sam waved to him, then stared at his own hand, flipping it over so he could look at his palm. _Aw, cool, never noticed how freakin awesome my hand looked before . . . all the cool little lines . . . just like a map. _"Huh, wonder why I never noticed that before."

After the doctor left, Sam quickly changed into his own clothes, and went to the waiting room. He sat and filled out the forms, chuckling at how the words seem to drift and float across the page. _Man, this stuff works great, I don't feel anything._

Finishing the paperwork, Sam stood, staggered to the counter and handed them to Nurse Betty. "Here ya go, Bitty . . . Booty . . . I mean Betty." He leaned over the counter, and smiled at her. "Anyone ever tell ya, you have the most incredible blue eyes?"

Betty appeared slightly taken aback at the comment. "Um . . . thanks, but they're brown."

"Whatever." Sam licked his lips as he stared wantonly at her. "Man, if I were my brother, Dean, I'd be all over you by now." Without waiting for her to respond, Sam turned to leave. "Gotta go . . . Dean can't be alone . . . hates to be left alone." He chortled loudly as he stumbled out the door.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Do you think he suspected anything?" Betty asked Damon, who'd strolled out of the exam area the moment Sam walked out the door.

Damon crossed his arms, a wide triumphant grin on his face. "Nope. Sam really believed he was in pain. Think he would've done pretty much anything I suggested to get rid of it."

"How long will it take?"

"Oh, darlin', he's already hooked. Pretty soon he'll do whatever we want him to do just to get another fix."

"You're a genius, Damon."

Damon's eyes glazed over then turned as dark as pitch as did Betty's.

"I know. Father will be pleased."


	2. Chapter 2

_so, amazingly enough, i'm updating this new chapter very quickly...hope everyone enjoys...thanks for reading and for the reviews!!! remember, reviews are golden!! thanks again, bambers;)_

_Chapter Two_

Dean leapt to his feet the moment he heard the phone ring. Snatching it off the bedside table, he glanced at the caller ID, saw Sam's name, and hit the button.

"Sam, where the hell are you? I've been tryin' to get a hold of you all day."

"Bar." The sound of music blaring and a girl's laughter in the background, nearly drowned out Sam's response.

Dean's grip tightened on the phone. "So totally not enough info, dude. What bar?" Angrily pacing back and forth, Dean listened as Sam mumbled something to someone at the bar.

"Mandy sees ta thin' i's called, Boon-" Sam hiccuped, slurring his words. "Docks, but Ch-ar disagrees."

Jerking the phone away from his ear, Dean glared at it, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You drunk, Sammy?"

"Naw, dude, jus' had three . . . maybe ten lil . . .lille . . .little drinks."

"I'll be right there."

"Good, cuz we're celebratin' . . . Rit-a jus' got out o' law school . . . ."

"You're so gotta be kiddin' me, right, dude?"

Dean grabbed his leather jacket and headed for the door, long strides carrying him swiftly to the Impala.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean heard a girl called to Sam. "Just ordered another round of shots."

Dean got in the car, turned the ignition, the engine roaring to life. The car's tires squealed, kicking up dust and loose gravel from the ground as Dean sped out of the parking lot of the motel.

"Called me Sammy . . . isn' tha sweet, Dean?"

"Yeah, freakin' adorable, dude." Dean turned right onto the main strip, looking from left to right trying to find the bar.

"Thin' she kinda likes me . . . Uh, gotta go, Dean . . . next rounds on me."

The phone line went dead.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Dean stood at the entrance of the Boondock Tavern, mentally taking note of the exits, number of people in the crowd bar, and any possible signs of danger as he searched for his brother. He was just about to give up when he noticed a large group of women hovering in a circle around Sam's tall, lanky form. _This is so not happening. I have to be dreaming._

The kick-ass beat of Renegade by Styx blared on the jukebox_. At least Sam chose a good bar to get drunk in. Would've had to kick his ass, if I heard some techno-crap coming from the jukebox._

Sam glanced in Dean's direction, gave him a lazy, lopsided grin, and gestured for Dean to join them. Draping his arm around a gorgeous red-headed girl's neck, Sam whispered something into her ear. She giggled and turned to reply.

Dean sidestepped numerous people and tables as he strode to his brother. He stopped short when he saw Sam gather the girl in his arms and kiss her firmly on the lips. Sam turned, grabbed hold of a short pretty brunette woman, crushed her body to his and kissed her as well. Dean couldn't help but smile as he noticed the girl stagger, a dreamy expression on her face when Sam finally released her.

_Atta boy, Sammy._

Stopping a cocktail waitress, Dean ordered a beer and motioned to where he'd be.

"Sure thing, sugar." She winked at him, then disappeared into the throng of people, milling around the bar.

"Dean," Sam grinned at him as Dean joined the group of gaggling females. "Jus' tellin' . . . wha's yer name again, sweetheart?" He pointed at a slim, blond haired, blue-eyed girl. "Ah, doesn' matter . . . I was jus' tellin' her what kinda superman you are." He turned to the girl again, and graced her with one of his most dazzling smiles. Placing his arm around her neck, he gestured to Dean. "True story . . . once I s-aw this guy righ' here, fly . . . course it was only through a door cuz I shot 'im . . . still it was pretty freakin' awesome." Sam laughed so hard tears sprung to his eyes.

Dean eyes narrowed angrily as he grabbed hold of Sam's arm and yanked him away from the women.

"Sam, what the hell's the matter with you. You know better than to discuss what we do with other people."

"Jus' tryin' to lighten up . . . yer always tellin' me ta have mo-re fun."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it closed and shook his head.

Sam suddenly jerked forward, crying out. Clutching hold of Dean's jacket, Sam trembled so hard, Dean could barely keep him from falling over.

"Sam . . . Sammy, what's the matter?" Dean hollered above the din of noise coming from the crowd and the music playing on the jukebox.

"B-back . . . Dea — hurts." Wrapping his arms around his stomach, Sam doubled over and puked on the barroom floor.

"Oh, gross," someone shouted as the crowd moved away from where Sam had thrown up.

"Nee- me — " Sam passed out cold before he could finish what he was saying.

Dean quickly knelt beside him, felt for a pulse and bent to check Sam's breathing, sighing in relief when he felt Sam's warm, gin-scented breath against his face. He patted Sam on the shoulder. "You're gonna be okay, dude. Just need a little air."

"Hey, you." Dean motioned to a muscular man wearing a tight black muscle shirt. "Help me get him up and outta here."

The man looked as if he were about to argue, but then shrugged and helped Dean lift Sam up off the ground. With Dean on one side and the brute of a man on the other, they carried Sam's motionless body out of the bar and to the Impala. Dean yanked the backdoor open and gently laid Sam on the seat.

He turned to the man. "Thanks, my brother could never handle his alcohol."

The man smiled, showing yellowed crooked teeth. "Yeah, got a brother like that myself." Without another word, the mountain of a man lumbered back inside the bar.

Dean went around to the driver's side, opened the door and got in. He swung to look at his brother, shaking his head, a worried expression on his face. "So your back's hurting you . . . why couldn't you just tell me?" He turned back and started the engine. "I'll let you keep your secret for now, Sammy, but another day like today and we're gonna have it out."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean grinned as he noticed Sam open his eyes, blink hard then squeezed them shut.

"Mornin', princess," Dean said cheerfully, talking a little louder than what was necessary. "How ya feelin' today?"

Sam lifted his head off the pillow, groaned and dropped it back down.

"Rough night there, tiger?"

"Talk a little louder, Dean, don't think people in China heard ya," Sam mumbled.

Dean chuckled. "Tell me you at least got the phone number of that hot looking red-head."

"Red-head?" Sam shifted in the bed to glare at Dean through glassy bloodshot eyes. "What red-head?"

Dean stood and grabbed his coat and keys. "Ah, Sammy, you were the life of the party, girls all over ya. Too bad you don't remember."

"I-I was?"

"Yeah, have to say, I was kinda impressed." Dean turned and headed for the door.

"Where you going?"

"Thought maybe you could use a little breakfast." Dean swung to stare at his brother, noting how pale Sam looked. "How about a few undercooked eggs with that white gooie stuff dribbling over the sides, and a couple of greasy sausages?"

Sam gagged, clamped a hand over his mouth, and lunged off the bed, sprinting toward the bathroom.

"I'll take that as a no." Dean chuckled as he strolled out the door and shut it behind him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Sam sat at the table, staring at the small orange bottle of pills in his hand, trying to recall anything he could about the day before.

_The last thing I remember was leaving the doctor's office. I know I was heading here . . . wasn't I? _

He took out the paperwork Dr. Damon gave him and read the contraindications, stopping when he read: _may cause unexplained blackouts, if this occurs, discontinue use and seek medical attention immediately, as it may be the sign of a serious underlying medical condition_.

"So much for a miracle cure." Sam threw the bottle in the garbage.

He grimaced, shuddering as a shockwave of agonizing pain ran the length of his back. Closing his eyes tightly, Sam gripped the edges of the table, knuckles turning white with the force he was exerting.

"Gawww . . . come on, damn it." He winced. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping into his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.

Slowly standing on shaky legs, Sam lumbered to the wastebasket, bent and snatched the pill bottle out of it. His grip tightened on the bottle, eyes blurring with pain and tears.

_Just two more pills . . . two more can't hurt._

"I can't." He shook his head. Setting them on the table, Sam stalked back and forth, fists clenching and unclenching, his gaze never straying from the pills offering him relief.

_Maybe it was a fluke . . . and I'm worrying for nothing._

"Yeah, but the forms say to stop taking it if blackouts occur." Sam raked his hands through his hair in frustration.

_I'll just take two more and if it happens again, I'll stop._

Another torrent of pain ripped through his spine, knees buckling, he crumpled to the ground.

_Have to make it go away . . . have to stop the pain._

Crawling to the table, Sam grabbed the bottle, yanked off the cap, took two little blue pills and dry-swallowed them. He replaced the lid and put the bottle in the pocket of his jeans.

Sam took a long, slow staggering breath, then slid to rest against the bedframe, closed his eyes and waited.

_Ah, there ya go . . . much better. _Sam's head dropped back against the mattress, and he opened his eyes to gaze dreamily at the technicolor light show, floating and dancing above his head. _Why did I ever even consider not taking them?_ _This is definitely much, much better. . . ._


	3. Chapter 3

_so, updating pretty quick on this story...for some unknown reason, it is easier to write about drug-addicted Sam then about a psychopathic serial killer...lol!! hope everyone enjoys!! cookies to those who review!! thanks again, bambers;0_

_Chapter Three_

Dean leaned against the doorframe and stared incredulously at Sam. Sam lay on the ground, intently gazing up at the ceiling, a look of wide-eyed wonderment plastered on his face. _What the hell's he doing?_

Walking to the table, Dean set the two bags he was carrying down, and then gestured toward the ceiling. "Somethin' interesting up there, dude?"

Sam rolled over and propped his head on his hand, a slow lackadaisical grin spreading across his features. "Yeah. I was just countin' all the dots."

Dean frowned, eyes narrowing as he continued to stare at his brother. "You were what?"

Gesturing upward, Sam's smile deepened. "Countin' the dots. An' I think I was up to ten thousand-eighty, but seein' how you've interrupted me, I'm gonna have to start over." Sam rolled onto his back, and started jabbing his finger toward the ceiling. "Hey, Dean, wanna help, you could start in the left corner."

"You gotta be kiddin' me, right?"

"Naw, Dean, this could take all day if I have to do it by myself."

The frown on Dean's face deepened into a scowl as he realized Sam wasn't joking. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah, got kinda tired of watchin' the specks of dust float by, although it was so totally cool when they caught the light. But it would've been a waste of time starin' at dust all day."

"An' countin' ceiling dots is much more productive?" Dean asked, concern clearly evident in his tone.

"Well yeah, Dean," Sam replied as if the answer should be obvious.

"Are you okay, Sammy?"

"I'm freakin' awesome, dude . . . . No demons to hunt at the present moment, found some girl's phone number in my pant's pocket, called her, and we're going out later." Sam sat up, leaned against the bed, and rested his arms on bent knees, grinning lopsidedly at Dean. "Course, she'll probably die some horrific death after dating me, but ah what the hell."

_Yeah, so definitely not okay. _Dean stalked to Sam, squatted in front of him and looked into Sam's eyes. Both pupils were constricted to mere pin-pricks. "You didn't hit your head the other night when we were hunting the Pritikin Ghost, did you?"

"Told you I was fine." Sam grimaced and tried to lower his head, but Dean grabbed hold of his chin and forced Sam to look him in the eyes. "Umm . . . Dean, aren't you the one always talkin' about personal space."

"Christo." Dean held his breath and waited to see how his brother would respond.

Sam chuckled loudly. "Never thought my going on a date meant I must be possessed . . . you're so gettin paranoid, Dean."

The muscle in Dean's cheek jerked erratically, teeth tightly clench, as he noticed for the first time how bloodshot Sam's eyes were. _Damn it, he's as high as a freakin kite._

"What are you taking, Sam?"

"Don't know what you mean, dude."

Sam tried to stand, but Dean snatched Sam's shirt, and pushed him back against the bedframe.

"I asked what kind of drug you're taking — don't make me ask again."

Leaning in so his face was within mere inches of Dean's, Sam's expression suddenly lost any sense of warmth, a glint of pure evil in his eyes. "Let-go-of-my-damn-shirt, or I'll snap your freakin' neck like a twig."

"Sam — "

"That wasn't a request, Dean. It's a promise."

Dean's grip on Sam's shirt loosened, and Sam leapt to his feet and headed for the door. Dean bound past Sam, and blocked the exit.

"Afraid I can't let you leave, Sammy." Dean crossed his arms and shook his head. "Not like this."

"Aw, Dean, did I hurt your feelings?" Sam glowered. "We're so not gonna have a chick-flick moment here, are we?"

"Look, Sammy, I know you're in pain, but whatever you're taking, isn't the answer — you need to stop."

Sam laughed mirthlessly. "I'm not in pain, Dean . . . I don't feel anything."

The lack of inflection in Sam's tone sent a shiver of dread running the length of Dean's spine. _What the hell kind of drug did he take? One minute he's all coo-coo for coca puffs and the next he's just plain — oh, shit!_

"Listen, Sammy, who gave it to you? You gotta tell me, dude, cause I think it could be some sort of demonic drug."

"God, Dean, could you be any more pathetic?" Sam raised his brows until they'd nearly disappeared beneath his shaggy hair. "Let me clue you in on something everyone else seems to know except for you. Not everything in the world revolves around demons and hunting."

"Where-did-you-get-them?" Dean demanded an answer.

Sam let out a deep aggravated sigh as he shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. "From a doctor, Dean — a doctor, not some demonic hell-spawn."

Dean held out his hand. "Give them to me."

"Can't do that." Sam pursed his lips, and gave a curt shake of his head. "I need them. Now get the hell out of my way — before I hurt you."

"No."

"I'm not going to ask again." Sam glared at him, an evil scowl twisting on his face.

"Give it your — "

Before Dean could finish what he was saying, Sam smashed a powerful fist into Dean's stomach, followed rapidly by an uppercut to the jaw. Dean's head snapped back, slamming into the door.

Recovering quickly, Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and kneed him in the gut. Sam staggered backward a few steps, then charged Dean, pummeling him in the chest and ribcage with well-placed punches.

Dean caught Sam's fist, yanked it behind his back, and slammed Sam into the door, bashing his fists into Sam's lower back repeatedly.

Sam groaned in pain as he smashed his head into Dean's face, blood spilling from Dean's nose. Dragging his forearm across his mouth, Dean swiped away the blood from his lips.

"Sonuvabitch."

Sam swung around and flew at Dean, sending them both crashing through the table. Sam rolled, leapt on top of Dean's chest and pounded him in the face. Dean grabbed his arm, jerked hard, dislodging Sam.

Dean vaulted to his feet, Sam followed. They circled, fists raised, each vying for an opening.

Sam jabbed, catching Dean with a shot to the kidneys. A rush of air escaped Dean's lips as he staggered backward, clutching his side.

Advancing on him, Sam threw another punch. Catching his arm mid-strike, Dean twisted it and drove his fist into the middle of Sam's back. Sam cried out, stumbling forward into a chair. Sam grabbed onto the chair and swung it at Dean. The chair connected with Dean's side, sending him sprawling into a dresser, his head striking the edge.

Dean's vision blurred as he collapsed to the ground. Blood dripped from the deep gash on his forehead. Sam stalked toward him, a malicious glint in his eyes.

"Ss-sammy — s-stop," Dean's words slurred as he blinked hard, trying to remain conscious.

Sam knelt beside him, a wicked smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He reached in Dean's coat pocket, and snatched the keys to the Impala. Eyeing them for a moment, Sam's gaze then fixed on Dean.

"Think I'll take the car."

Reaching into his own pocket, Sam yanked out a bottle of pills, jerked off the cap and took three. Dry-swallowing them, he then replaced the cap and put them back in his pocket.

"S-sam, don't . . . y-you could get in a — "

"You know, Dean, I'd have to say the best thing about you is your Impala." Sam stood, headed for the door, opened it, and swung to glare at Dean. "Know what — I think I'm gonna keep it." Chuckling, Sam tossed the keys up in the air and caught them in his right hand. "Yeah, definitely like the sound of that — my Impala. What do you think, Dean?"

"Sammy . . . you're n-not thinkin' straight . . . yy-you could h-hurt someone."

"So long, Dean." Sam turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

_okay, so just finished writing this...hopefully i'm doing okay with it!! and hopefully i'm portraying drug addicted Sammy okay!! let me know!! thanks for stick with the story so far!! extra special cookies fr those who review!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Four_

A groan of pain escaped Sam's lips as he shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He blinked hard against the bright sunlight streaming through the sheer window curtains and realized his left eye was swollen shut. Gently prodding the area around it, Sam winced. _Why don't I remember getting this?_

Every bone in his body seemed to scream as he rolled over and reached for the pills on the bedside table. _Christ, what the hell were we hunting last night_. Sam yanked off the cap, took two, replaced the lid, and swallowed the pills.

Bracing against the mattress, he slowly pushed himself to his feet, sore muscles straining with the effort. Sam wobbled precariously on shaky legs, grabbing hold of the bedframe to steady himself as the room shifted in and out of focus. A pain-filled hiss escaped from his lips. _Oh God, two is definitely not gonna be enough_. Sam hastily flipped the cap off the bottle, shook three more into his hand, swallowed them, replaced the lid, and set them down on the table.

Sam plodded to the bathroom door, and hearing the shower running, he knocked. "Hey, Dean, you almost finished in there, cause I really need a hot shower."

He jiggled the handle when Dean didn't respond and was surprised the door opened with a slight creak. "Since when haven't you locked the door when you're taking a shower, dude?"

A beautiful brunette woman with dark blue eyes, pulled back the shower curtain, and stared at him. "Didn't think you'd mind if I took a shower, Sam. You could join me if you'd like." She smiled seductively at him.

_Who the hell is she? _Sam stared incredulously at her, taking in her long sexy legs, trim physique, and firm breasts. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and gave her an awkward smile. "Um . . . naw — " _What the heck is her name — God, I should at least know her name?_ "I'll wait till you're finished."

"Sammy, get your boxers off and get in here with me. I'll wash your back and you can wash mine." She licked her lush, full lips, a sexy grin on her face. "And then we can start on the front and see where it leads."

Sam pursed his lips and gave a slight shake of his head as he jerked his thumb toward the bedroom. "Uhhh . . . yeah — just gonna — I gotta — I'll be right back." He scurried out of the bathroom before he could make a complete ass out of himself.

Searching the room, he found her purse, rummaged through it, and found a license. _Chelsea Rivendale . . . good to know, seeing as how we've —_ Scrubbing his hand across his face, Sam stared at his bed, noticing for the first time how rumpled the sheets were. _Um, yeah, this is definitely not good. How could I not remember her or what we did?_

_And where the hell is Dean? _

Stalking to the dresser, Sam snatched his cell and jabbed the button to call Dean. After three rings, his brother finally answered.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?" Dean replied, a definite hint of irritation in his tone.

"Where are you, dude? I mean I wake up and I got — " He hitched a thumb toward the bathroom, then brusquely raked his fingers through his hair. "Just where are you?"

"Same place I was four days ago, Sam, seeing as how someone stole my car."

"What? Someone stole your car?" Sam pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment and stared at in disbelief. "How the hell did that happen?"

Dean was quiet for several seconds before responding. "Not quite sure. Maybe it happened when I was unconscious from the deep gash on my head."

Sam's stomach churned, his heading swimming as the pills took effect. He staggered to the bed, dropped onto it and leaned against the backboard. "S-someone knocked ya on the head, Deanie?"

"Deanie?"

"Maybe it was the purple men. They are always hitting people on the head . . . they're known for that, you know? I read it in a book somewhere." Sam chuckled. "Gotta watch out for them, dude, they're tricky."

"Yeah, Sammy . . . purple men . . . why the hell didn't I think of them."

"Although, it could've been the globsnatchers . . . although I don't think they like shiny black things." Sam laughed hysterically. "I'll do some research."

"You do that, Sam." Sam could hear Dean's deep aggravated sigh, and then his brother continued. "Where the hell are you, Sammy?"

"Right now, I'm lying in bed." He pointed to the bathroom. "But, in a second, I think I'm gonna go join that hot chick in the shower."

"I mean it, Sam, where are you? I need to find you before anything else happens."

"Why . . . you think the purple men are after me?" Sam leapt out of bed and rushed to the window, peeled back the curtains and peered out, squinting against the bright sunlight. "I don't see anything, Deanie . . . not sure if they can tolerate the sunlight."

"No, I don't think the purple men are after you . . . and if you call me Deanie one more time, I swear to God, I'm so gonna kick your ass when I finally get a hold of you."

"Why the hell are you getting all pissy with me, dude, it's not like I took y-your car — "

Before he could finish, Dean cut him off. "Naw, you'd never steal my car . . . but I gotta tell you, when I get it back, it better not have even the tiniest scratch on it or I'm so gonna be kicking some serious ass." He was quiet again for a moment, only his deep, steady breathing could be heard. "Look, I'm not gonna ask again, where the hell are you?"

Sam blinked hard, strobes of bright flashing gold and red light warring with the glistening specks of silver, hurt his eyes. "Gotta go . . . think they're here, Dean — think they're trying to burrow into my skull. Have to stop them — have to save what's-her-name in the shower before they get her to."

"Sammy, don't you hang up on me," Dean shouted into the phone.

Clutching the sides of his head, Sam cried out in pain. "Th-think they try and eat your brains, Dean — oh, God, it hurts. Help me, Dean . . . pl-please."

"I'm coming, Sammy." Dean's voice filled with concern. "Just give me something to look for . . . a street sign, a name of the motel you're staying at . . . anything, dude."

Sam peered out the window again, the blazing light nearly blinding him, and saw a neon sign. "Th-think it says the Barringer's Inn. Oh Christ, h-hurry, Dean . . . th-think there's a wendigo in my shower."

Drawing in a staggering breath, Sam's grip on the phone tightened as he stalked to the dresser and grabbed his knife. "I-it's tryin' to tr-trick me . . . pretendin' ta be a girl . . . I gotta kill it."

"Listen to me, Sammy," came Dean's voice in a breathy rush. "If someone's there with you, you have to let them go."

"It's gonna kill me . . . it's gonna kill me if I-I don't stop it. The purple men said so."

"She's not gonna hurt you, dude . . . I promise. The purple men are lying to you . . . just let her go."

_It's not really Dean on the phone, Sam. _A soft voice echoed through Sam's mind._ The wendigo is trying to make you think it is. You have to kill it before it gets to Dean._

"Y-you're not Dean." Sam trembled as he slowly edged his way to the bathroom door."Dean would say kill first ask questions later," he whispered.

"Sam, when you were five, you fell off your bike and broke out your front tooth. You came crying to me cause you were so afraid Dad would be mad and wouldn't let you ride it anymore, remember? It's me . . . you gotta believe it's me."

_The wendigo knows everything about you, Sam. It's a smart hunter. Kill it before it kills you._

"The wendigo would know th-that . . . they know everything."

"Christ, Sammy! Ask me something only I would know."

Sam squinched his eyes shut as the pain inside his head increased. "H-how many dots," he asked in a shaky voice.

"What?"

"H-how many were there . . . tryin' to remember . . . lost count . . . how many were there?"

"Ten thousand-eighty, then you had to start over."

Sam's grip on the knife slackened. He groaned as the white-hot pain rippled through his spine. "Tha's right. D-did have to start over, didn't I?"

"Yeah, now let her go." Dean's voice soft and coaxing.

_He wants the wendigo to kill you . . . he thinks you're evil._ The voice inside Sam's mind warned._ Don't trust him. He's gonna try and kill you himself if the wendigo fails._

"Not evil, Dean . . . I-I swear I'm not." Tears sprang to Sam's eyes as he thought of his brother hating him enough to want him dead. "Wh-why do you want to kill me?" He leaned against the wall, and slid down to rest on his haunches, the tip of the blade resting on his throbbing temple.

"I'm not. It's those pills you're takin'. They're messing with your mind."

"No, they help. Th-they're the only things that make the pain go away."

"Please, Sammy, I'm beggin' ya to stop takin' 'em. Can't you see what they're doin' to you?"

"The purple men said you would say that. Said, you were against me."

"Damn it, dude, there's no such thing as purple men . . . a wendigo is not taking a shower in your bathroom, and if you see a banshee sitting at your table, guess what . . . she's not real either."

Sam glanced nervously in the direction of the table, and drew his legs up closer to his chest. "Oh, God, Dean, do you really think there's a banshee in here as well?"

"No, I don't . . . look, just go sit in the Impala and wait for me. I promise I'll be there as fast as I can."

"Th-thought you said, your car was stolen?"

Dean groaned and Sam could tell without even having to see him that his brother was nearing the end of his patience.

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' the purple men stole it, picked up the wendigo and banshee somewhere along the way and now my car is parked somewhere outside your motel."

"Huh . . . I didn't even know, they knew how to drive, dude."

"Yeah, pretty freakin' amazing seein' as how they are only three inches tall. Now go get in the car."

"You have seen them . . . thought you said they weren't real?"

Sam heard a noise coming from the bathroom and then the door swung open. A hideous wendigo glared at him. Its jagged yellowed teeth gnashed together as it growled at Sam.

"Oh God, Dean, it's comin' for me an' I don't have a flare gun."

"Sam — just get in the car." Dean hesitated for a second, then hurriedly added, "I placed a damn charm on it to ward off wendigos."

"Not gonna work . . . the purple men said to stab it in the heart . . . said it's the only way." Sam dropped the phone and leapt to his feet, his knife raised toward the wendigo.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean could hear the sound of a woman screaming for several minutes and then the line went dead.

_Oh God, Sammy, please, just go to the car — please tell me you're not killing that girl._

A knock came at Dean's motel room door.

_That damn well better be Bobby._

Dean grabbed his coat and Sam's laptop, and strode to answer it. He threw the door wide open and glared at the old hunter.

"Bout freakin time you got here, Bobby."

Bobby adjusted his baseball cap so it was low over his brow. "Got here as fast as I could, damn truck broke down, an' I had ta fix the engine." He scrubbed a hand through his beard as he continued to stare at Dean. "What's the matter anyhow? You were pretty damn cryptic on the phone."

"I think Sammy may have just killed someone."


	5. Chapter 5

_so, yeah, another new chappy...Sam is still drug-crazed and Dean is still trying to figure out what to do to save him...hope everyone enjoys...remember, reviews are golden!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Five_

Bobby pulled his old, beat-up truck into the parking lot of the Barringer's Inn, noticed Dean's Impala with Sammy sitting behind the wheel, and parked well away from it. Sam appeared as if he were asleep, leaning against the doorframe, his head resting on the window.

Scrubbing his hand across his bearded face, Bobby looked from the youngest Winchester to the motel, shook his head, and then his gaze settled on Dean. Dean's brows were drawn close together, lips pressed tight against his teeth as he stared pensively at Sam.

"I'm sure the girl's okay, Dean," Bobby said, to break the awkward silence now besieging the small cab of the truck. "Sam would never knowingly hurt anyone."

Dean gave a curt nod as he continued to look at his brother.

"I'll go take a look around inside, make sure — "

"No, I'll do it," came Dean's stoic reply.

"Dean." Bobby placed a reassuring hand on the young hunter's shoulder. "I'm sure there's nothin' to see, besides — "

"Said I'd do it." Shrugging off Bobby's hand, Dean leapt out of the car. He turned back and bobbed his head toward the Impala. "He leaves, make sure you follow him."

Bobby pulled his cap low over his brow, hunkering down in the seat. "Gotcha."

Dean strode down the walkway in front of the inn, peering into each window, searching for any signs that might've been left behind by a struggle. _So never thought of myself as the Peeping-Tom type. _He paused at one window, tilting his head to the side, raising a brow, a quizzical expression on his face as he stared at a man and woman tangled in a strange sexual position. _Huh, never thought of doing that before._ The woman glanced up at Dean, smiling and licking her full sensuous lips. He nodded to her, grinning, and she winked at him. _Yeah, like this is so not awkward._

Making a hasty retreat, Dean found a door someone had left slightly ajar. From inside, he could hear the muffled sound of someone moaning. _Okay, crying is good, crying means she's alive._

He glanced in the room, and saw an overturned table and chairs. Next, Dean noticed a broken lamp lying on ground beside a tall dresser, shattered glass scattered across the floor. His gaze settled on his brother's bloody hunting knife sticking out from the wall just beyond the bed. _Damn it, Sammy. What the hell did you do? _

Slowly, Dean made his way around the bed and found the trembling woman, scrunched up in the corner, wrists and ankles tightly bound, a gag in her mouth. Blood dripped from a deep gash on the side of her face. More blood, trailed down her upper arm and soaked into her t-shirt and jeans, from a deep knife wound. Her right eye was tinged purple, a small cut beneath it.

He glanced back to where he knew his brother was, the muscle in his cheek jerking as he clenched his teeth, and then he looked back at the girl._ We're so freakin' screwed._

Dean knelt beside the terrified woman, and she shied away from him, more tears spilling from her eyes.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you," he said in a soft, coaxing voice.

He removed the gag from her mouth, and saw her lower lip was swollen and split. Dean quickly untied her wrists and ankles, checking her over to make sure she wasn't hurt anywhere else.

"Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with fear. "Sam — he seemed so sweet. I mean when we . . . it was — " She lowered her head, and continued to quietly sob. Wincing, she touched her bruised cheek, and drew a shuddering breath. "And then he changed, talkin' crazy about demons and callin' me a wendigo . . . God, I don't even know what that is — and then he attacked me." She brushed away a stray tear slipping down her cheek. Looking up at Dean, her dark blue eyes searched his for an understanding. "Why — why would he want to hurt me?"

Dean raked his fingers through his scruffy hair, not knowing exactly what to say to her. "Don't think he meant to hurt you. S-Sam's— " His voice broke when he said his brother's name. He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "He's not normally like this. An' it would tear him apart if he knew he hurt you." Dean knew she wouldn't believe him, but he had to say it anyway.

"You're his brother, aren't you?" She drew her bended knees up closer to her chest, hugging her arms around them. "You're Dean?"

"Yeah," he said, quietly.

Dean rose to stand, and yanked Sam's knife out of the wall, and noticing her flinch, he quickly pocketed it. He strode to the bathroom, grabbed a towel off the towel rack and started wiping down anything his brother might've touched while staying there. When he was finished, Dean snatched a second towel, wet it down, and brought it out to the injured girl.

"Here." He pressed the towel to the side of her head. "You've got a pretty nasty cut there. It'll probably need stitches . . . uh, afraid I don't know your name?"

"It's Chelsea," she said. Taking the towel from him, she gingerly dabbed the wet cloth against the knife wound to her upper arm, and winced. "You need to call the police."

Without taking the time to acknowledge what she'd said, Dean began wiping down everything in the room. Dean righted the table and chairs and then gathered up all the broken pieces of glass and the broken lamp, and set them on the bed. He made a thorough search of the room, looking for anything that belonged to Sam to take with him when he left.

"What do you think you're doing?" Chelsea asked incredulously.

Dean ignored her, snatching his brother's leather wristband off the bedside table, along with the hoodie he found underneath the bed.

Chelsea stood on shaky legs, threw the towel on the ground and headed for Dean. She grabbed his arm just as he was about to take all the sheets and blankets off the bed to burn later. Fierce anger warred with fear in her dark blue eyes. "I asked you, what the hell you think you're doing?"

"What I always do — I'm protecting my brother." Dean shrugged free from her grasp and gathered the bedding into a pile.

Chelsea stared at Dean, slack-jawed. "Your brother deserves to go to jail. He could've killed me."

"I don't expect you to understand, and I don't really have time to explain." Dean strode to the entrance of the motel room, carrying everything he'd found in the room that might incriminate Sam, and hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. _I owe her something, some sort of explanation. _"Look, my brother . . . Sammy . . . well, there's something wrong with him. He would never hurt you on purpose. You have to believe me."

She pensively bit at her lower lip, and grimaced. Chelsea ran her tongue over it, then touched her lip with trembling fingers, a frown creasing her forehead. "If that's true, he needs help. You need to turn him over to the police before he hurts someone else or kills them."

"He won't do that."

"How can you be so sure?" she challenged, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Because he's my brother — my responsibility, and no one knows him like I do."

"I'm not gonna let him get away with this." She glared at Dean, angrily wiping away the blood trailing down her cheek. "I'm callin' the police so they can lock you both up."

"You can try, darlin, but they'll never find us. That's a promise." Dean strode out the door, slamming it behind him.

Dean stalked to Bobby's truck, opened the door, and threw all the stuff he'd taken from the room onto the front seat.

Quickly glancing at the pile cluttering his seat, Bobby fixed a worried gaze on Dean. "Was

she — "

"She'll be okay. Can't really get into it now cause I think we're gonna have company soon," Dean said evasively as he shut the truck door. Heading for his car, Dean called back over his shoulder, "We'll meet you later at the salvage yard."

Bobby hesitated for a second, staring at Dean, and then started his engine. "All right, Dean. You be careful, and take care of Sam. You hear me?"

"Yeah, I will."

"See you back at my place." Bobby looked at him one last time and then drove away.

Dean stared at his brother laying passed out against the doorframe, dried blood on his flannel shirt. Sam appeared much paler and thinner then the last time Dean had seen him. Sam twitched convulsively, his eyeballs darting back and forth relentlessly beneath closed lids. And even in his sleep, Sam grimaced, crying out in pain as he moved into a more comfortable position.

_How am I supposed to help you, Sammy? _Frowning, Dean scrubbed his hand across his face, as he continued to look at his brother. _Christ, I have no idea how to break someone of a drug habit. _

Hearing the sound of sirens in the distance, Dean quickly opened the driver's side door, careful to catch Sam before he fell out of the Impala. Dean nudged Sam awake.

"Hey there, Sunshine, better move over and let me drive before you end up the cell mate of some guy named Big Jake, who happens to take a real liking to you."

Sam blinked hard, frantically covering his face with his arm and moaning softly. "Oh God, it's too bright. It's burning me . . . make it go away."

Frowning, Dean nudged Sam a little harder on the shoulder. "Come on, Sammy move over, we really gotta get out of here."

Sam looked at Dean, eyes wild and fearful, body trembling. "Wh-who are you." He jerked his head from side to side, then turned to look behind him. He glanced back at Dean. "What did they do with my brother, Sammy?"

Dean stared at his brother in disbelief. _Okay, so totally unexpected. _"Who are you?" he asked, already surmising the answer.

"Dean." Sam answered, glaring at Dean as if it should be obvious. "They took him . . . locked him away in the dark . . . stole his mind away." Sam grabbed Dean's hand, holding onto it in a death grip. "Th-think he's dying — and I can't find him."

"Who took him, De— " Dean hesitated, and quickly corrected himself. "Sammy?"

"Don't know. Thought they might be aliens — they . . . they probe you. You know that, right?" Sam's grip tightened uncomfortably on Dean's hand. "Make you dance with them . . . it's horrible."

Dean nearly choked on a laugh, then saw his brother was absolutely serious, and his expression turned grim. "Naw, don't think it was aliens, think we stopped their invasion on Independence Day. Really rather awesome, spaceships crashing to the ground, Captain Steve Hiller blowing up the mothership."

"Think we could find this guy, Steve . . . maybe he could help find Sammy?" Sam asked, a new-found look of hope, on his haggard face.

_Oh, freakin' great, now he wants to find a fictional character to help him save himself. Could this day get any worse? _

"Look, I'm not supposed to tell anyone this, top-secret government stuff you understand, but I'm Steve Hiller. I've been sent to bring you back to headquarters so we can devise a plan to save Sammy." _Yeah, this lie is so gonna backfire on me. _"Remember this is all hush-hush so just call me, Will Smith."

"Oh, so totally cool. You think the purple men took him, Will?" Sam slid over to the passenger's side and Dean got behind the wheel and slammed the door.

"Yeah, our thoughts exactly." Dean turned the key in the ignition, revved the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot. "Either, little purple men or it's a plot devised by Sasquatch to overtake the world."

"Oh God, I forgot all about Sasquatch." Sam's eyes widened with dread. "Think he might be involved?"

_Christ, he's totally outta his freakin' mind. Bobby better be workin on a plan how to fix this. _"Never can tell, that creature is a damn tricky bastard." Dean rolled his eyes, raking his free hand through his hair. "Can't discuss it any further till we get to headquarters. Colonel Klink will fill you in on all the details." Dean took a sidelong glance at his brother, then returned his attention to the road. "Why don't you get some sleep, it's gonna be a long drive."

"Yeah thanks, Will."

Sam leaned against the doorframe, and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes, he was snoring softly, the tense worried expression, easing from his face.

Dean looked at his brother again. _God, he actually thinks he's Dean and I'm Will Smith. _He shook his head in disgust, hands tightening around the wheel in a white-knuckled grip._ What the hell are those drugs doing to you, Sammy?_

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Chelsea stood at the window and watched as the black car peeled out of the motel parking lot, with tires screeching. She let go of the curtain, turned and crossed the room, snatched her purse off the dresser, and headed for the door.

She swung to look at the room now devoid of any signs of a struggle, and shook her head. _I can't believe he'd help Sam, coverup a crime. _

Chelsea left, slamming the door behind her, and strode down the walkway to another room. Knocking loudlyshe waited for someone to answer. Within a few moments, a bare-chested man opened the door, a look of shocked surprise on his face as he took in her battered appearance.

Tilting her head to the side, Chelsea glanced at a blonde-haired woman, lying naked on the bed with her throat sliced open, blood spilling out onto the white sheets, and smiled.

"You gonna let me in, Damon?"

Damon's dark brown eyes scrutinized her briefly, and then he moved aside and let her in. Striding past him, Chelsea plunked down on the bed beside the dead woman, and raked her fingers through the deep, slashing wound on the girl's neck.

"Why is it that you always get to have all the fun, while I'm stuck playing the innocent victim?" she asked, licking the blood from her fingers.

Ignoring her comment, Damon asked, "So did Dean do what I thought he would?"

"Do you mean in regards to these?" Chelsea ran her hand across the bruises and gashes on her face and arms and they disappeared. "Yeah, he did exactly as you thought he would." She chuckled. "Damn, he even took the sheets."

"And he believed Sam really hurt you?"

"You should've seen the look on Dean's face." Chelsea stood, walked to Damon, and caressed his bearded cheek. "I swear, I had a hard time not laughing."

"Good."

"So what are your plans, Damon?"

Damon cupped her face in his hand, and kissed her on the lips. "I think it's time we visited Sam's dreams, because no bad deed should ever go unpunished."

_Independence Day-- written by Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich--release date July 3rd, 1996_


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry this took so long, but i had computer issues that needed to be resolved and then had to finish next chappy of When Darkness Calls before even attempting to write this one...hope everyone enjoys, thanks for all the awesome review!! so very cool of everyone!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Six_

Sam awoke with a dazed confused expression on his face. Cocking a brow, Sam stared hard at Dean scrutinizing him closely, and Dean could've almost laughed if not for the seriousness of situation.

"You're short," Sam drawled, turning in his seat to get a better look at Dean.

"Thanks for the update, Captain Oblivious." Dean grimaced, not mentally prepared to go another round of Sam craziness. His brother's demonic mood swings were slowly starting to wear Dean down. Just hearing the sound of Sam's voice, rubbed Dean's nerves raw, and he inwardly cringed.

As Dean watched his brother, a dark seething formed within his heart. Anger swelled inside him, burning to be released, and it took every ounce of sheer willpower he had left, not to turn and slug Sam across the jaw for the meaningless comment. _It's not like he hasn't said I'm short before, so why the hell is it bugging me so much now?_

A slow boyish grin crossed Sam's face, dimpling his cheeks. "Are you by chance a member of the Lollipop Guild?"

Dean stared at him for a second, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head in utter frustration. _Unfreakin' believable._ _Now I'm a damn munchkin. At least Will Smith was a bad-ass. _"Yeah, member 238765 of the Lollipop Guild at your service. Wanna a freakin' lollipop?"

"Do you have one?" Sam asked almost gleefully, his smile widening, flashing pearly whites.

"No."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Cause we munchkins are on strike, and its how we get our kicks until our demands are met."

Hoping the conversation was at an end, Dean returned his attention to the road. _I swear to God, if he doesn't shut the hell up, I'm gonna slam my fist down his throat._ Dean smiled, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he thought of beating his brother to a bloody pulp. His smile rapidly turned to a frown as he realized what he was actually thinking, and how much pleasure the idea brought to him. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Undeterred by the comment, Sam jabbed two fingers in Dean's direction. "You see, I knew you were a munchkin, your hair gave you away."

"My what?"

"You know, your hair, the way it does that whole flippy-doodle thing."

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening. He slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator, wanting nothing more than to get to Bobby's Salvage Yard before he did some serious damage to his drug-crazed brother.

He turned to glare at Sam briefly, then looked back at the road. "My hair doesn't flippy-doodle. I have freakin' awesome hair. And I'll have you know, women love running their fingers through it . . . drives them wild."

"If you say so, still looks flippy-doodle to me." Sam twisted in his seated and crammed his forehead against the window, shifting his head back and forth to stare out at everything whizzing by in technicolor splendor.

"It's better than that brown shaggy mop you call hair," Dean grumbled, unconsciously raking his fingers through his short cropped hair.

"You're not a very nice munchkin, you know that right? You must have anger management issues."

"Really, good to know, cause in about a moment, I'm gonna have kick your ass issues."

"Maybe some sort of aggression disorder as well." Sam pressed his lips against the window and started making weird popping sounds with his mouth, fogging up the window.

Hearing the noise, Dean glanced in his brother's direction. _My God, it's like bein' in the car with a freakin' four-year-old. _"Seriously, dude, mind not makin' out with my car?" Sam stopped what he was doing, sat face forward, and crossed his arms. "And while you're at it, Dorothy, could you click your heels together three times, maybe your brain would find its way home."

Sam glared at Dean, his happy-go-lucky expression faded, a deep scowl creasing his brow. "I'm not gonna sit here and take crap from one of Glinda's lackeys."

Before Dean realized what his brother was about to do, Sam had already unbuckled his seatbelt, and opened the car door. Sam quickly turned, ready to leap out of the speeding vehicle, and in a split-second of indecision Dean almost let him jump. Wanted him to jump._ Christ, what am I doing? _Dean abruptly grabbed him in a headlock, and slammed on the breaks. The Impala's tires screeched loudly, the scent of burned rubber filling the car. Dean veered recklessly to the side of the road, and put the car in park, still clutching onto his squirming brother.

"What the hell did you think you were doing, Sammy?" Dean released his hold from around Sam's neck, glowering at him. His entire body trembled, heart hammering uncomfortably against the wall of his chest. "Damn it, you could've been killed."

"Naw, dude, I can fly."

Dean's lower jaw dropped open as he stared incredulously at his younger brother. "You got one thing right, you are flyin' high — but if you had leapt out of Impala, you would've been doing a whole helluva a lot of bouncing."

"And I'm not Sammy, I'm Dean, remember, Will?" Sam said as if the whole munchkin conversation had never occurred. "God, if you're the best the military has to offer then the fate of the world is in dire straights."

_Okay, makin progress, at least we're back to me being Will Smith. _"Believe me, princess, they don't come any better than me." A cocky grinned twisted on Dean's face.

"Not much comfort there."

"Shut the damn door, _Dean_, so we can get back on the road," Dean snapped, quickly losing whatever little patience he had left.

Sam did as Dean asked, then yanked his seatbelt around himself, and snapped it in place. Stretching, he yawned loudly, then slunk in his seat, and closed his eyes. "Think we could stop and get somethin' to eat," he mumbled, tiredly. "I'm starvin'."

"Sure, what are ya in the mood for, _Dean,_ fruit loops, nuts, or my personal favorite, a whole box chuck-full of coo-coo for cocoa puffs."

"Hmmm . . . Cracker Jacks."

"Why would you want freakin' Cracker Jacks?"

"Dunno, just want them. Hey, ever notice how no one ever really wants the toy surprise on the bottom of the box, but yet everyone fights to get it."

Yeah, it's a real freakin' mystery, dude." Dean shifted the car into gear, and pulled onto the road. _God, if I have to listen to him spouting off nonsense for another five minutes, I swear I'm gonna lose my freakin mind. _"Why don't ya get some more sleep, we'll be to Bo — headquarters in about forty-five minutes. I'm sure they have buckets full of Cracker Jacks for ya. And guess what, I won't even fight ya for the surprise."

"Sounds good." Sam rested his head against the window, and within a five minutes, Dean could hear him snoring.

As Dean listened to the sound of his brother's light breathing, his stomach clenching tightly, a dark scowl twisting on his face. Hatred welled inside him unlike anything he'd ever experience before, burning its way through his soul. It coiled its way around his heart, choking off any emotion or reason. He wanted Sam dead. Wanted it more than anything. Wanted Sam to suffer before he died.

_Kill him. Kill him now. If anyone deserves to die, it's him. _

Dean nodded, agreeing with malevolent voice inside his head. _He's caused me so much pain. I've lost everyone because of him. _

Pulling off to the side of the deserted stretch of road, Dean parked the car, and reached beneath his seat and quietly pulled out his knife, and gripped it firmly in his hand. As the blade caught a glint of waning sunlight, Dean visualized slicing through his brother's throat, ripping through his heart, and malicious laughter bubbled to his lips.

_You deserve this, Sam, for every bit of pain you've ever put me through. Its just a shame you aren't awake so I can see the look in your eyes as you die. _

Slowly, Dean swivelled in his seat, raised the knife in his left hand, poised to stab his unsuspecting brother. Sam rolled in his sleep to face Dean, a sudden cry escaping his parted lips. Dean blinked hard, the strange trance he'd fallen under vanishing at the sound. He looked from the knife in his hand to his brother, a sick feeling of dread washing over him. _Oh God, what the hell did I almost do?_

Dean twisted back, opened the door, and bolted out of the car. The knife he'd held dropped to the ground with a clatter as Dean stared at his hand in disbelief. _I wouldn't of . . . I couldn't._

He looked at his brother sleeping soundly, and then yanked out his cell phone. Scrolling down until he found Bobby's number, he jabbed the button and made the call.

_Come on, Bobby answer your damn phone._

After the fifth ring, Bobby answered.

"Hello."

"Bobby . . . this is Dean." The words tumbled from his mouth in an urgent rush, his voice sounding strained even to his own ears.

"Somethin' the matter with Sam, Dean?" came Bobby's gruff reply.

"No . . . well, not exactly. Bobby, I think we're in deep shit."

"Tell me what's wrong."

Dean drew in a staggering breath, trying to calm his taut nerves. "I think whatever Sam is taking, not only effects him, but those around him as well."

"What do you mean . . . are ya sure?" Bobby asked, and Dean could hear the concern in the old hunter's voice.

"Pretty damn sure . . . if almost killing my own brother is any indication." Dean stalked back and forth, berating himself for underestimating whatever demon had control over his brother, and now it seemed him as well.

"You did what?"

"I dunno, Bobby, it was like I was under some kinda trance, and all I could feel was pure hatred toward Sam — I-I literally wanted him dead."

"Look, just get him back here, and we'll figure this out together."

Dean could feel the anger inside him beginning to boil to the surface again. Just saying Sam's name elicited a rage he could scarcely control. "How am I supposed to do that when just looking at him or hearing his voice, makes me want to bash his skull in?"

Bobby was quiet for a moment and Dean could tell he was mulling over what Dean had said. "How far away are you from the salvage yard?"

"About a half hour."

"Okay, jus' blare your music. Don't look at him, don't talk to him, and if he talks to you, turn the music up even louder." Bobby took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and then continued, "I'll meet you half-way and he can drive the rest of the way here with me."

Dean glared in his brother's direction, fists clenching and unclenching, as he continued to pace. "All right, but you'd better hurry, cause I'm not sure how long I can hold out."

"I'm leavin' right now. Do what I told you to do. And if you feel like you're gonna hurt him, jus' get outta the car . . . hear me, jus' get out and get away from him."

"Yeah, gotcha."

Leaning against the hood of the Impala, Dean hung up the phone and put it back in the pocket of his jacket.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"_He wants you dead, Sam. He has always wanted you dead," A darkly foreboding voice spoke to Sam as he watched Dean advanced toward him, knife in hand, poised to strike. Unadulterated hatred filled Dean's green eyes. Green. Not inky black. Not possessed. _

"_Dean, just tell me what I did?" Sam pleaded, seeing the hatred so clearly directed toward him. "You can't do this, I'm you brother, for Christ sake."_

"_I want you to die . . . just the sight of you makes me physically sick. You're the reason they're all dead . . . Mom, Dad, and Jessica. And God only knows how many others have died because of you." _

"_You have to kill him, Sam," the voice inside his mind urge. "You have to before he murders you."_

_A knife appeared in Sam's hand. He tore his gaze away from his brother for a second to look at it, wondering briefly how it got there, and then dropped the blade. He shook his head. "No, I won't hurt him."_

"_Then you'll die."_

_Dean lunged at him_ _stabbing Sam in the chest repeatedly. Sam screamed in pain as blood spilled down his chest. _

Sam awoke with a startled jolt, gazing around wildly for his brother. His heartbeat raced a mile a minute as sweat trickled down his face and prickled at his scalp. Noticing Dean leaning against the hood of the Impala, Sam slid to the driver's side, and stealthily exited the vehicle. His keen gaze lit on a knife lying on the ground beside the car, and he stooped to retrieve it. Palming the blade in his right hand, he strode toward Dean.

"Dean," Sam quietly said, hiding the knife behind his back. "Dean, what's wrong?" He asked when his brother didn't say anything.

Dean glance up at him briefly, and before his brother quickly lowered his head, Sam saw the same look in his brother's eyes as in the nightmare he'd just had.

"So, I'm Dean again, good to know." Dean snarled. "Not that I wasn't enjoying be called a munchkin from Oz or Will Smith, but I really think I prefer my own name."

Scratching his head, Sam quirked a brow, at the odd comment. "Dude, what the hell are you talkin' about. You're not making any sense."

"Oh, yeah, that's right, I'm the one not making any sense." Dean pushed away from the car, and came face to face with Sam. "What did you forget your happy joy pills or something, Sammy."

The muscle in Dean's jerked, his face contorting in rage.

"I don't know what you mean." Sam's grip tightened around the handle of the blade. "And I gotta tell ya, you're kinda making me worried. What did I do wrong?"

Dean strode past him, slamming his shoulder into Sam's. "Just get in the car . . . get in and for God sake, just shut the hell up."

Sam watched Dean get in the car, and then pulled the knife from behind his back and looked at it. _It couldn't have been a vision. It was only a nightmare. _Inside his mind, Sam heard the same voice he'd heard in his dream.

_You have to kill him, Sam — Kill Dean before he kills you._

He nodded in understanding, and headed to the passenger's side, a dark glint in his hazel eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

_so new chappy...took awhile to get back to it...toomany stories to write and not enough hours in the day...thanks for reading!! lat me know what you think!! reviews are golden!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seven_

Out of the corner if his eye, Dean noticed Sam reach in his pocket and pull out a small orange bottle of pills. Sam jerked off the cap, shook some into his hand, and swallowed them. He then dumped a few more in his hand, and took them as well. Shaking his head in disgust, Dean didn't say a word.

Dean's gaze then trailed downward to the knife resting on Sam's lap. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, hand shaking as he fought the urge to grabbed the knife and plunge it into his brother's heart. _Come on, Dean, fight this, he's your brother for Christ sake. _

"Let me know if you spot any purple men, wouldn't want them sneakin' up on us," Dean mocked, returning his attention the stretch of road before him. "And while you're at it, keep an eye out for falling houses, Dorothy."

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Dean? You're actin' kinda crazy, you know that, right?" Sam slid his hand over the knife, fingers curling around it.

Cringing at the sound of Sam's voice, Dean cranked up Metallica's _Whiskey in the Jar_ to drown him out. _Don't listen to him. Block him out. Keep your mind on the road. _"Didn't know when your happy-joy pills would take effect, and you'd go all buckets of crazy again," he shouted above the music. "So thought better safe then sorry."

Sam angrily shoved the bottle of pills in Dean's face. "Read the label, Dean. They're prescription pills. Didn't buy them in a back alley someplace."

For a moment, Dean thought to snatch the demonic pills from Sam, but for some reason, he just couldn't find the will to do so. "Get them outta my face, Sam, or I swear to God, I'll break every bone in your hand."

Sam hesitated for a few seconds then jerked his hand away and stowed the bottle back in his pocket. Drawing in several deep breaths, he turned in his seat to look out the side window, silently brooding.

"Can you stop breathing so damn loud? For Christ sake, I can hear you over the music." Dean reached over and cranked the music up even louder. Searching the road ahead, Dean looked for any sign of Bobby's beat-up pickup truck. _Come on, Bobby, don't know how much more of him I can tolerate. _

His brother swung back to glare at him, hazel eyes glazing as the medication took effect. Grabbing the dial, Sam flicked off the radio. "Always hated your music."

Dean flipped it back on, turning the volume up all the way. "If it bugs you so much, there's the door." He gestured toward it, and continued, "Just give me a reason to shove you outta it."

Sam's grip tightened around Dean's Bowie knife. "Really like to see you try."

Dean chuckled, the humor not reaching the depths of his menacing green eyes. "Don't tempt me."

"Think I just did." Sam flipped the radio off again, and smirked.

Slamming on the brakes, Dean jerked the wheel to the right, and pulled off the road, tires screeching loudly as loose gravel kicked up from beneath them. "Get outta the freakin' car."

"No." Sam shook his head, the simpering smile never leaving his face.

"Not gonna tell ya again." Dean's eyes narrowed menacingly as he glared at his brother. "Get out or I'm gonna drag your sorry ass out."

"Think you just asked again," Sam goaded. His gaze turned deadly as he pointed the tip of the blade at Dean. "Wanna go for a third cause I'm not budging."

"Last chance . . . don't want to hurt you." When Sam shook his head, refusing to move, Dean opened the door and leapt out of the car. Stalking to Sam's side, he jerked on the handle, and the door opened with a loud creak. He grabbed onto Sam's jacket and yanked him out of the Impala. "You can wait here for Bobby cause if I have to be around you for two more minutes I'm gonna kill ya."

"You can't just leave me out here in the middle of nowhere." Sam stared incredulously at him as Dean strode back to the driver's side.

"Yeah, I really think I can." Dean chuckled.

Sam glanced at the knife still clutched tight in his hand, and then back up at his brother, a slow smile creeping across his features. Taking a few short steps, Sam bent and plunged the knife into the front tire, and yanked down hard on it, slicing through the thick black rubber. Watching the tire rapidly deflate, Sam laughed. With his sardonic grin never wavering, Sam looked at Dean and then pointed at the wheel. "Looks like we're both waiting now."

"You sonuva — " Dean changed directions and charged at Sam.

A deep guttural growl escaped Dean's lips as he slammed his fist into Sam's stomach. Sam groaned as he stumbled backward a few steps. Before his brother had a chance to catch his breath, Dean advanced again, delivering a quick jab to the ribs.

Dean drew back his fist to strike again, but Sam caught hold of his arm, and tried to twist it back, but Dean broke free. Usually agile on his feet, Sam's movements were slow and awkward as he struck out at Dean with a weak ineffectual blow to the jaw.

Rubbing his chin, Dean smirked. "That the best ya got, Sammy? Cause it ain't close to being good enough."

"Dean . . . I — " Sam took a shaky step forward, then faltered as his body began to tremble violently. His eyeballs rolled backwards, the whites of his eyes showing. Crumpling to the ground, he jerked spasmodically.

"Sam?" As he watched his brother, Dean's mind cleared from whatever effects the drug held over him, and he realized what was happening. Rushing to his brother's side, Dean dropped to his knees. "Sammy, talk to me! Tell me what's wrong?"

Sweat trickled down the sides of Sam's face as he continued to thrash wildly in the grass. Dean reached inside Sam's pocket and yanked out the empty pill bottle. He quickly glanced at the date it had been filled, panic gripping his heart when he saw it had only been a little more than a week ago. _Christ, Sammy, what did you do? _

He scrubbed his hand across his face as he tried to recall how many pills Sam had taken, but the answer alluded him. _Why the hell didn't I stop you?_ "Damn it, Sammy, how many did you take?"

Dean glanced at the knife sticking out of his tire, and then looked around to see exactly where they were. Not seeing any road markers, his worried gaze settled back on Sam. "Where the hell is Bobby . . . I need to get you to a hospital."

Sam abruptly stopped shaking and went deathly still.

"Sam?" Dean gently shook his brother's shoulder, and when he didn't respond, Dean bent and listened to hear if he was breathing. Nothing. He quickly checked for a pulse, but didn't find any. "Damn it, Sammy, don't you do this to me."

Without hesitation, Dean tilted his brother's neck back, pinched his nose, and started to breathe into his mouth. He turned his head, watched Sam's chest slowly rise and fall, then lowered it again to give his brother another breath. _Come on, Sammy, breathe for me._

Leaning over his brother, Dean locked his fingers around the back of his hand, and started compressions, silently counting them off in his head. He then lowered his head, gave Sam two more breaths and started over with the compressions. _Don't you leave me._

As the moments ticked off slowly, Dean continued to perform CPR on his brother, praying Bobby would come along. _Not letting you die out here, Sammy. _

Sam gagged, and Dean quickly rolled him on his side, vomit spilling from his brother's lips. When he was finished retching, Dean rolled him back, and cleared Sam's mouth with his finger. Dean checked to see if he was breathing, but still couldn't hear anything or see Sam's chest rise, and resumed CPR.

Hearing Bobby's truck pulling up beside them, Dean glanced up, wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead, and yelled to him. "Call 911. He's not breathing."

Bobby hastily complied, and then hurried over to them. He dropped down beside Sam, and took over giving compressions as Dean continued giving him breaths.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby asked between compressions.

"Overdose," was the only thing Dean could think to say.

"How long's he been down."

Dean gave his brother two more breaths, and then answered. "Don't know, don't care. He's gonna be okay."

He glanced up at the old hunter, and saw Bobby narrow his eyes, a look of concern etching his craggy features. Bobby nodded in understanding as he continued to pump on Sam's chest. "We'll get him back, Dean."

Sam gagged again, and they quickly rolled him on his side, more puke spewing from his mouth. When he was finished, they turned him back, and Dean cleared out his mouth again. Seeing that his chest still wasn't rising and falling, Dean gave him two more quick breaths and Bobby followed with compressions.

"Why the hell didn't I stop him . . . saw him taking them." Dean glanced at Bobby then lowered his head to look at his brother's still form. "God, this is all my fault."

"Can't think about that now, Dean," came Bobby's gruff reply. "All we can do is make sure he stays alive till the ambulance gets here."

They continued on in silence, only stopping long enough to check if Sam was breathing. When they saw he wasn't, they resumed CPR.

In the distance, Dean heard the sound of sirens, and his heart skipped a beat, a feeling of momentary relief washing over him.

"Hear that, Sammy, they're coming. Everything's gonna be okay."

A few minutes later, the ambulance rolled up along side the Impala, and came to a stop. Two paramedics got out, and hurried to the back of the vehicle. One of them pulled out a backboard as the other grabbed their equipment, and both rushed over to Sam.

"How long hasn't he been breathing," the taller of the two men asked, as he knelt beside Sam.

"Not sure," Dean supplied, staring helplessly at the man. "Started CPR right away."

The shorter man knelt, and took Sam's vitals. "What happened?" he asked as he quickly jotted them down.

"He overdosed." Dean swallowed hard, not liking the way the word _'overdose' _sounded when referring to his brother.

"Know what he was taking?" the dark-haired, taller man asked as he placed a bag-valve mask over Sam's mouth and nose, and attached the thin clear tube that dangled from it to an oxygen tank.

"No."

"How long's he been using?"

"Don't know . . . not long."

"Age?" the shorter man, with salt and pepper hair said, looking up at Dean.

"Twenty-four," Dean said, quickly rattling off answers to the questions the two men threw them at him. "He's gonna be okay, right? I mean, I started CPR right away . . . he has to be okay."

"We'll do everything we can for him, sir." The taller man, calmly stated. "Now you have to back away and let us work."

Reluctantly, Dean and Bobby, stood and moved back. Dean watched as they worked with trained precision, doing everything in their power to make sure Sam lived.

"Let's scoop and run, George," the shorter man muttered to his partner as he assessed Sam's vitals again.

George nodded in agreement, and hurried to make Sam ready for transport. Within a matter of minutes, they had Sam strapped to the board, and were lifting him off the ground. They quickly carried him to the awaiting ambulance.

"I'm coming with you." Dean rushed to the back of the ambulance, waited for them to load Sam in, and for George to get back out, and then leapt inside the vehicle.

Dean heard the door slam shut behind him and then heard another door open then close. He felt the movement of the vehicle as George did a quick u-turn to head back the way they'd come from. Yet, none of that truly registered as Dean helplessly watched the older man trying to save his brother's life. _Fight for me, Sammy. God, please don't leave me. _


End file.
